


Masks

by VerilyWeSailAlong



Category: V for Vendetta (2005), V for Vendetta (Comic), V for Vendetta - All Media Types
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, Canon Continuation, F/M, Fluff, Healing, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28397325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerilyWeSailAlong/pseuds/VerilyWeSailAlong
Summary: Yes, V lives. I just really wanted a continuation of the wonderful story that the books and movie told. While I am not making any hard hitting political statements, I hope that you will enjoy this story.
Relationships: Evey Hammond & V, Evey Hammond/V
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Masks

**Author's Note:**

> Just a brief disclaimer; I mixed aspects of both the graphic novel and the movie (I know that Alan Moore just cringed somewhere in the world) but I will certainly be using the movie more than the book. Mainly, because it is more accessible (the book details will be minuscule), and I don't own V for Vendetta I just really wanted the story to continue.
> 
> I posted this one a while back on another Website but was asked to share it here by one of my friends.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Since donning the mantle of V, following the night of the insurrection, Evey's world had not stopped moving. Evey's days were full of learning new skills. Her nights full of shepherding the rebellion to reform what was left of the Hand, Finger, Eye, Ear, Nose, and Mouth. While her mentor V had been extremely adept at removing her fear by exposing her to the same trials that had shaped him; she had not been injected, as he had, with the virus that had bestowed upon him his reflexes, strength, and extraordinary mental capacity. She had been exposed in the hospital while watching her brother die with her parents, but she had neither been fatally infected nor had she seemingly received the effects that V had. This was her new life. He had once told her to "Commit to it." And she certainly intended to do so. She had to build her knowledge from the ground up; she began by moving into the vacant Shadow gallery.

It had been a few days since she had made the journey to Victoria Station to dance with V a final time and after his makeshift funeral, come here to don the mask and mantle of her masked marauder. Without V there, the gallery resonated with the sounds of her footsteps, she explored tentatively at first, having only experienced the main rooms and the fake jail while V was still heading the revolution. She felt that opening V's private quarters and the jail would bring a rush of memories too heavy a burden for her to bear following his death. She began slowly at first; relighting the kitchen, living room, and Valerie's memorial. Valerie's memorial was in a sad state; all of the Scarlet Carsons began to wilt. Evey knew that V was a talented gardener but she wasn't sure where his source was, so she cleaned the dead flowers away and filled the space with a selection from the 872 songs on the old jukebox. While the music was not as resplendent as the rich red roses, the music filled space and for a time the soft strains of songs soothed the emptiness of Evey.

She began reading every book she could find that would contribute to her new role as the face of the revolution. She knew that she could never replace V; but by providing a glimpse of the real mask, true costume, and the unadulterated idea on the television and even in person, she could ensure that the revolution would continue in a manner cohesive to the idea that was her mentor behind the mask. She read voraciously; lounging on the red chaise, next to the piano, the suit of armor and strains of music from the jukebox for company. She studied computer workings; becoming proficient at some things that would prove useful in her future as V. She read martial manuals and watched militant movies; mimicking the moves she observed until the muscle memory moved her. It wasn't until a few weeks had passed, in what was her new home that she began to smell roses.

V awoke to the smell of roses and the rumbling of tracks beneath his body, he bade himself to move. She had given him the most beautiful gift he had ever received; her acceptance. His masked countenance had proclaimed his love for her and she had reciprocated in kind. She had not removed his mask out of deference to the idea that he represented, that had warmed his heart the most. He found that moving was a trial; he knew that he had less than ten minutes to get himself off of this train to certain doom. But the bullets that had passed through his armored plate were making it a task. While his pain tolerance was god-like and his healing rate was astounding, he had passed out already and did not want a repeat performance as he knew what else was confined in the that train car with him. V rolled off of his funeral bier. Placing his feet between him and the floor was a feat in itself, but he managed. With a grimace he staggered to the door that would release him. He clutched at his breast keeping pressure upon the worst of his wounds. He pulled the emergency release for the door. Tucking his limbs to his form, he dove. He rolled onto the tracks. The jarring causing such sharp pains that he had to fight the blackness encroaching upon his vision.

He willed himself forward away from the explosive blast he was sure that was about to follow. He saw the light from the end of the tunnel before he heard the roar and felt the heat from the blast. His work was not yet done though. He staggered to the wall of the tunnel; he had to get out of the underground. He had to be found. This was indeed the night to be found.

Evey made her way to the doors that she dreaded; she had left them cracked accidently on the night she rushed back here to procure a V costume. Slowly she entered his study, circumventing the dominoes that proclaimed loudly who had set them. She made her way to his room; the room where she had hastily ransacked his closet in a rush to join the thousands of Londoners who had marched on Parliament. This was the room he had slept in, presumably for the past 20 years, the room where had he not been Edmond Dantes his Mercedes would not be standing here alone.

She sat on the large fluffy bed; this was not the source of the smell if anything it had faded once she had entered this room. However Evey could not force herself to move just yet, she inhaled deeply taking in the leftover essence of the room's former occupant. The walls were covered in bookshelves, all full of even more books than were in the study. There was a door she had left untouched and the closet she had dug through merely a few weeks ago, in other words a lifetime. She calmed her beating heart and made her way to the closet slowly she ran her hands over the variety of dark clothing, it wasn't until her hand accidently brushed the back wall of the closet that she realized there was an entire arsenal hidden behind the variety of shirts, cloaks, and pants. She smiled of the irony of it; a hidden weapons cache in what was probably the most hidden base in all of London. She had told herself that she was going to commit fully and she sure as hell intended to. She stripped, pulling the lightest item of clothing from the closet, a light gray linen shirt. It enveloped her; drowning her in its soft folds and the rich residual scent that she only briefly was able to enjoy in their last dance and as he laid dying in her arms. Next she pulled out pants; however if the shirt was drowning her, there would be no way to describe what these pants were doing. It was apparent she had either been incredibly lucky the night of the insurrection or she had just gone without pants; she hoped it was the first option. It had been a crazy night after all, a painful night, a scarring night. With some digging she found a pair of pants which were more adjustable; with cuffs and ties that made them fit like a glove. Finally she pulled out a sleeveless doublet or was it jerkin she could never remember; it was vest-like and adjustable to the utmost degree. Pulling her boots on, she buttoned, tied, and adjusted until she felt sharp enough to be a true denizen of the Shadow Gallery. She searched the closet until she found daggers that fit her hands; she did a few passes, all of the clothing allowed her to move.

Having gained a sense of calm in her physical exertions she made her way to the unexplored door. She was shocked by her appearance in a mirror but that was not what brought her hand to her mouth, it was the bathroom itself which was covered in mirrors. She couldn't imagine why V would do this to himself; here was the man who would not reveal his face to her, to the world, was he reminding himself of the monster he had become? Had she been wrong in calling him a monster? Ultimately she had pulled that final lever. She had agreed with his final goals even if his means and motives were questionable.

She gazed at herself in the mirrors; her hair had begun to grow back and spiked in all sorts of directions. She had kept it clipped between the time of her 'imprisonment' and the fifth and now she was in desperate need of clippers. When she had made the Shadow Gallery her home she left many things on the surface only bringing nonperishable food and some bare essentials. She gazed at the hardened face in the mirror and all she could do was laugh; her hair was so askew that even with the hardened eyes and sharp clothing she looked quite silly. Digging through the drawers and cabinets of the bathroom she found the components of V's various disguises, first aid kits yet they were kits much too complicated for a normal household, and old fashioned shave kit, yet absolutely no clippers could be found. She wasn't going to chance a cut using the old fashioned razor. Knowing that V had shaved her head in 'processing' she decided to make her way to the faux jail V had constructed to rid her of her fear. She walked out of his room laughing at her hair; she had books and change of clothes in hand. She was determined to continue looking and feeling like she belonged here; perhaps it would help chase away the shades of the Shadow Gallery.

The medics were not shocked to find yet another body in a Guy Fawkes mask, riddled with bullet holes. While the military had not released fire on the public march some protestors on their way home had been corned by Fingermen who felt it was their duty to uphold the 'law.' As they carted him into the awaiting ambulance it was apparent there was something different about this particular male body. There was the metal plate on his chest for one, next was the quality of his mask, and finally the sheer number of bullet holes in his body led the medics to believe that multiple gun cartridges had been emptied into this man. His breathing was strained and his present unresponsive state, both were indicative of how dire his condition was. The doctors would have to operate immediately if he had any chance to survive; however they would also have to be extremely wary with how much blood the man had lost. He was rushed into the operating room where they immediately prepped him for surgery.

Heading into the faux jail Evey pushed the doors to her personal hell open probably with more force than was necessary. While she had expected the gray din and florescent light of this portion of the shadow gallery she hadn't expected to see all of the doors removed to the various portions of the 'jail' and intensely bright fluorescent light. What seemed to be a perfectly normal laundry room occupied the space that was once her interrogation room and her cell a perfectly benign bathroom and storeroom full of gardening supplies. The room was better lit now and on a counter next to a utility sink were the sought clippers beside a small cosmetic mirror. While her quest was over she couldn't help her curiosity, the smell of roses entranced her, pulling her down the hallway into what had been the processing hall. What she found there made her heart stop in awe.

The lights of the room were interspersed with UV lights, the floor completely covered in interlocking growing boxes, all linked with a watering system which seemed to be programed for automatic utilization. At least a quarter of the large hall was covered with rose bushes all in bloom. Without their gardener no one had been there to shear the buds at the appropriate time and every rose had opened to its fullest bloom releasing the pungent perfume of perfection. The rest of the beds were full of crops of vegetables, herbs, and even what appeared to be berry bushes. Between the pilfered stores that V had stockpiled in his kitchen and the food she had brought with her this garden could sustain her for a long time, her nights would no longer have to be divided between steering the course of the revolution away from another fascist regime as V and visiting the newly formed black market for food supplies as Evey.

Following surgery his body was pieced together, all of the bullet holes closed, the internal bleeding stopped, and infections treated. Then again his mind was not. Following, during, prior to the doctors were not sure when precisely he had retreated to his mind but he had slipped into a coma.

Evey backtracked. Rushing into the storeroom she had completely forgotten her ridiculous hair. She grabbed garden shears and the largest basket she could find she rushed back clipping as many roses as could fit in the basket she ferried them back to Valerie's memorial although they were overly pungent and fully open the flowers filled a space that had been nagging her for a few weeks now. She repeated this process several times arranging the roses in the urns that had held the flowers previously. Once no more fit in those urns she went to the kitchen and grabbed whatever there was that could possibly hold the flowers; she could not bring herself to throw even one away. This was the last batch of roses V tended the last batch her would ever tend. Once her room, the kitchen, her bathroom and the common space were seemingly overflowing with flowers and she had run out of vessels; save for what she assumed was a Ming dynasty vase and her kitchen wares for cooking her meals. She began to bind them for drying, getting two or so dozen to hang in the UV room. Satisfied the bushes were pruned and exhibiting more buds, furthermore that she had not killed them, she began to tend to the vegetables. She sorted the good from the bad and harvested what was ready. If she were frugal she could not only feed herself but perhaps she could also bargain for luxuries like milk and butter at the clandestine market.

Her life continued like this for the next few weeks, peaceful but lonely. Her only company was the brief interactions with the farmers and scavengers at the market; which was becoming less secretive, less illegal as the government that had once been, fell further away. Evey did not rest, she maintained a strict martial regimen because the pockets of resistance with respect to the fall of government, usually led by former leaders, were becoming more violent and devious. And if they ever caught "V" she did not want to be caught off guard. These were things that bore precedence to be watched. However she was not all that worried the world was still turning and the revolution was still in action. She still read voraciously however the books went from manuals on hacking, as she was now more than adept to tap into the old "Fate" system in order to broadcast her bi-monthly rallying speech, to the copious amounts of philosophy and classic literature V had kept in his personal shelves in his room.

V awoke with a start. What was once black was now so very white. The darkness gave way to bright light. Suddenly he was no longer in the hazy grey world of his dreams but on a hard sheeted gurney. He was so very hungry. So weak his muscles slightly atrophied with what seemed to be a month or two of disuse. So naked. His mask was gone and he was robed in a flimsy green gown. When he politely asked the nurse for clothing she had run searching for his doctor. The doctor was anything but helpful in getting him his clothing, which he said was ruined beyond recognition. Helpfully the doctor did explain that he was in fact "one lucky bastard" who "just needed a little more rest and a few good meals before they could let him go."

V was antsy; it had been years since he had been in the presence of so many people in such a sterile setting. He felt, as though he were in 'processing' again. As though Dr. Surridge would just walk through that door with yet another syringe full of some permutation of the St. Mary's Virus. Lilliman would breeze down the hallway offering so-called last rights to the ailing. The sick feeling in his stomach would not dissipate. All of these people could see his face in the bright lights, they could all see what a monster he had become at Larkhill those many years ago. Why were they not cringing? Why were they not even remotely suspicious? He had known that the night of the insurrection would be the perfect night to be found; there would be limited suspicion placed on a man found in a mask that night. However that did not explain away why so many cartridges had been emptied into his athletic body, nor did it explain why they could not see the monster he was. Why weren't they running in abject terror?

'It's that time of the month again' Evey chuckled to herself. Immediately she stopped and wondered where that light hearted though had come from her mood darkened. 'Why be V if I can't have a sense of humour?' She thought darkly as she pulled the wig on. He had exhibited a sense of humour; albeit it had been a dark one but she could see how he had become a shadow. She pulled the mask down over her face. He hadn't been just a shadow though! He had been a shade, a ghost moving; pulling her into his gravity. She pulled on the gloves. Why was she allowing him to fade away? With a flourish of the hat her disguise was complete. Maybe it was because she was becoming him, dark sense of humour and all.

She began the way she had the past three speeches, the way he had begun his. "Good Evening, London. Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you appreciate the comforts of routine – the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I know that these recent times have not been tranquil or routine; but by taking some time out of your daily lives I hope to provide some succor in this time of bloody revolution, some accountability. We have deposed the high chancellor, you have conquered your fears overcome your panic. Your voices have been heard! You are no longer silent, no longer obedient! But we must absolutely maintain control over these emotions. Cruelty, injustice, intolerance, and oppression could still very easily take hold in our fragile nation. That is why tonight, I hope that unless you yourself are in danger, I propose that you would only apprehend former party members instead of caving to the inherent bloodlust, giving in to the need for bloodshed that drove our nation for so many years. We must never forget what has transpired in this nation. Forgetting fear is forever freeing, forgetting history makes us frail. We must always remember that justice, freedom, and fairness are goals to be strived for, which our nation should embody. They are embedded in our very core. The need for discourse is a crushing one; we should never forget the injustice that was done to us. We should never forget the sacrifices made for us. And we should never forget who we are. We are a people that should never be forgot! "

With a click the television turned-off. V knew it was her. She had been the only one he knew who could both embody his ideas so stunningly and implore for the evocation of mercy for the people who had killed her family, friends, perhaps even her lover. She must remember him! Or had he been imagining the sadness in her voice. When she had reminded the people of the 'sacrifices made.' He was not sure now. Since her introduction to his life he had become unsure. He had thought that he was ready to die, but her presence had brought him away from that ledge. He had never been this unsure in his entire life. He supposed though that this was the time that he did not need to be sure anymore. He hadn't been afraid in years but at this instant he was terrified of many things. He was so uncertain. He couldn't be in this place anymore but had no strength to move, he needed this sterile place's care but the emotional toll was beginning to wear on him. He knew he loved Evey, and while she didn't want him to go yet he did not know or fathom that she loved him as well. His thoughts were a jumble, in this place he was suffocating. In this moment though he was sure of one thing, he needed to get out of here and he undoubtedly needed to find her.

She sat on the couch. She had just finished watching The Count of Monte Cristo for the hundredth time; at least it felt like that. She had become as ridiculous as V in her ability to quote it from beginning to end. She still felt bad for Mercedes but she was nowhere near as upset as she had been the first time she had viewed it. This Mercedes at least got to keep her Edmond. That line of thought led her to think about 'her' Edmond. It had been a week. All too soon she would have to speak again. The world was becoming violent again. The increased freedom had been good for all, but former civil servants who were still loyal to the government were being hunted like dogs. Because of this their pockets of resistance were becoming more violent. Because the military still existed and forming a new government to take control was slow, the risk of a repeat performance of the old regime was looking more and more viable. All it would take was one spark. Would he understand her recent plea for mercy? Did she really understand it? Was it as he had once pointed out; if she weren't in immediate danger did it make her soft? "No!" She resolutely yelled at herself. She knew who she was listening to She was listening to Gordon. She would not get lost behind the mask; she could not become him and, often, she found herself slipping further. She snuggled deeper into the couch, the news was reporting on roving bands of homeless people and the current state of the English farms, which contrary to Norsefire propaganda were flourishing. Evey was fascinated by the pictures of sunny green land dotted with cows and sheep she finally turned off the television once the news had turned to her work. She opened her book. Reading until it had lulled her into a deep sleep.

He was released. With a lot of coercion. The doctors couldn't believe he was pain free. And with their disbelief, V was convinced they were not as daft as they appeared. He was in pain, a lot of pain. He should not be able to move but his remarkable pain tolerance allowed him to. His skin had healed but within him the muscles were still knitting together, the soft tissues of his internal organs were melding and the bones were groaning with the effort of healing. But the pain of the healing, the inflammation was excruciating. He was able to move but it was not pleasant to do so. Hiding his discomfort had been challenge; he was so used to wearing a mask, that preventing his face from contorting had been difficult. But after a few hours of tests and an eternity of pain, he was allowed to leave. They had confiscated his clothing the night they had found him; the only item that had been returned to him was his mask. Someone had lovingly cleaned the blood from it. The doctor V had once thought imbecilic returned it to him telling him yet again that he was "one lucky bastard" and that "this mask was positively a good luck charm christened on a night he should not forget." This was not his good luck charm, but he wasn't about to correct the good doctor.

Upon entering he placed the mask upon his face, with his clothes from the lost and found he was positively certain he looked utterly ludicrous. Grey sweatpants and a T shirt were not meant to be a part of his ensemble. He had found her there on his couch or was it her couch now. Snoring slightly, she was a sight to behold. In his clothing, her frame was displayed in way most pleasing to his eyes. Her hair clipped short, there was peace on her face. She wore it like a mask. She was truly magnificent. Right down to the puddle of drool pooling right below her chin. 'You can put the woman behind the mask, but you cannot take the humanity out of the girl' he mused to himself. He turned immediately to his room he needed to change before he risked waking her; he wasn't going to terrify before he had a chance to enjoy their new found time together.

Evey felt herself floating, she was on a cloud the breeze was light and cool up here but the sun was kissing her skin, tingles of warmth all down her body. V tucked her gently into her bed. He had been half-tempted (more than half-tempted if the power of truth compelled his honesty) to tuck her into his own bed, as entering his room had shown minimal signs that she had been in there. She had slept there at least once he was certain of it; but he was not certain whether he was disappointed that she had not taken up permanent residence in his room. His discovery of Evey's closet raid had caused V to chuckle when he noticed that most of his casual clothing was commandeered by his charming companion. He lifted his mask and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, which left him wanting so much more.

Evey awoke from the most restful slumber she had experienced in a long while, she was confident enough to say perhaps the best she'd had since she was a little girl. What had awoken her gradually was the smell of cooking food. The scent was wonderfully familiar, yet disconcerting as she wasn't the one cooking it. What had startled her awake had been the move from the living room to the bed, she seldom slept in, as she had so often given herself over to sleep on the couch where she was comforted by the words on the page, the comfortable hum of the jukebox, and the watchful eyes of Valerie. Her immediate thoughts turned to her intruder. She was not afraid but angry! Someone had invaded her sacred space. V's home. How dare they steal food! How dare they move her! Her rage was brimming over the edge of her control. Why hadn't they just killed her? They had found her and her home; they were helping themselves to her food. She could hear the jukebox going, they had touched her music. She felt righteous fury. They had probably barricaded her in here to torture her. With the smell of frying eggs and the sound of music? That couldn't be right. With a shake of her head she grabbed her knives, positively incensed she grabbed the door handle, and pushed with all of her might. The door gave way. Evey found herself in a rather ungraceful heap on the floor.

V could hear the commotion coming from the hallway. He really was not sure whether he should laugh or mourn the fact that, while he had been absent, Evey had gained a more complete set of killer instincts. While to his eyes she was normally full of grace and poise, in this particular case the clamor from the hall hinted otherwise. It was time to laugh. Logic told him his was a laughable occasion. His heart agreed. The woman, who in his eyes was utter perfection, had just tried to force down an unlocked door and from the sounds of it the result had been a tumble. She unceremoniously fell, her body upturned, ungracefully concluding with a rather unyielding touchdown on her rump. Mild cursing and some shuffling later. He could hear her footsteps now that she had righted herself. What was she going to think? More importantly how was she going to feel? Should he put down the pan filled with grilled tomatoes? Could she faint after all he had done to her in the fake scenario? Even in the midst of bloddy firey revolution he had not questioned himself like a teenage girl. He had often checked himself for goal-setting purposes, but this stream of conscience was ridiculous. Had the time in the hospital done something to him? Or had it been this woman fast approaching?

She burst into the kitchen, to see him standing there. This had to be a dream he was standing there. Frilly apron around his waist and spatula in his ungloved hand, exactly as she had seen him that morning after her first fifth of November. This had to be a dream. She placed her knives on the counter. Her hands were trembling fiercely. She made her way over to him. Her entire body was quaking. He took her unsteady hands into his own; this had to be a dream. "Is this a dream?" her voice cracked as she brought her hand to the mask. She heard him say "No my darling Evey, this is not a dream" then the shock overtook her like a wave and the world went black.

She had been fierce as she had forced the door from its frame. He had taken her in in an instant. His clothing fit her as it just could not fit him. The sleeves had billowed around her and the knives she held. Her face was cold steel. Suddenly her countenance went completely soft. All he wanted was to still her shaking frame. He grabbed her hands; his bare skin on hers was positively electrifying. He didn't have much time to revel in that feeling because as soon as he had responded to her query he had to catch her falling frame.

Evey awoke on the couch it was where she had fallen asleep, had the kitchen been just a dream? Slowly she began to take in her surroundings; her eyes began to flutter open, she could see a black figure in the distance humming softly to the jukebox, her nose could smell cooked food. Her eyes snapped open. That was not a dream. That figure in black was really here. But was he really her V? Did she not place his body on a train loaded with explosives? She could not help herself from thinking 'I've gone mad. Absolutely mad.' But this was certainly her V, even in her bleary state she could see the frills of his apron. Why would her mind include that detail, her previous dreams and delusions of V had all revolved around his final declaration of love. Not this particular memory of his lighter side.

He could hear her begin to stir. She had become much quieter in his absence but the sounds of human stirring were becoming more apparent. "Welcome to the world of the waking." He approached her on the couch; wincing a bit as he began crouching beside her leveling the eyes of his mask to her own.

She levered herself up on her elbow "Remove your gloves" she commanded. He acquiesced to her request, placing his gloves above her head. She could see his scarred hands placed on the couch cushions. She gingerly lifted one of his hands, tracing the patterns. She could feel the warmth coursing through his hands. She felt a sense of wonder "It is you." It was a statement of fact. He was here. Alive. Her face turned stormy; happy, sad, angry it was all there. She sat up the rest of the way. She dropped his hand like a hot rock. And promptly stood up and stomped to the kitchen.

She had been passed out on the couch for at least ten minutes. Those ten minutes were the last feeling of peace he would have for a while. She had demanded he show her his hands, 'how very sensible she had become.' He rose pulling his gloves back on. Her touch had ignited something; the electric current was still coursing through his veins. He followed her like a balloon on a string. She was banging around the kitchen. Finishing his table settings she sat down; with a simple gesture she compelled him to sit as well. The silence was positively deafening. She began to eat, probably hoping that he would remove his mask and join her, this is one request he would not respond to. While he had avoided looking in the mirrors at the hospital, he had not forgotten the monster that he was, he would not subject her to that horror yet not until he was certain. He allowed her to eat most of the food he had prepared for her, before tentatively speaking "I appreciate how well you've cared for the gallery Evey." She merely raised her eyebrows at him between bites. This silent treatment threw him for a loop "What, I really mean is Thank you. I could not imagine coming home to this place if it were empty and in utter disrepair." She nodded slowly as she stood.

"I am going to go shower, V. I'll be back in a little while" she said coldly as she took her plate to the sink. "Please eat; you need your strength" that she said with a bit more warmth. The electricity that had been pumping in his veins began to spark.

Evey methodically stripped down and scrubbed, she felt as though her body was shaking apart. She tried to remain calm and as the last of the soap suds ran down the drain that veneer ran down the drain with them. She felt herself slipping. She caught herself on the wall of the shower and cried until the hot water ran out and subsequently her tears. Feeling significantly clearer in the head she removed herself from the shower and dressed.

V finished eating. Cleaned the dishes and walked toward the garden. He could hear Evey, her sobs were heartbreaking. He felt himself sinking. His back was against the wall, he cradled his head in his hands. That was where Evey found him. The mental shield she had built in the shower imploded. He stood with a stagger and a wince. He would not let her see his pain but, oh she made him weak. He was not prepared for her accusatory line of thought. "Why did you not at least contact me? Why did you abandon me? How could you let me think you were dead!" He began to move toward her, he would do anything to stop the tears brimming in her eyes. "It has been so hard-without… you. I thought you were dead. Sometimes I wish it had been me instead of you, I wished that I had died down here. Instead of you! Or even with you… would have been better than this loneliness!" With that admission the angry tears began to flow again and Evey tried to retreat to her room.

That admonition stopped V dead in his tracks; he caught Evey around the waist. Her struggle to retreat was in vain. He used a single warm solid arm and swept her to his chest possessively. The contours of their bodies melded them into a single entity. For a fleeting moment Evey expected V to pull her into a kiss, instead V pressed his cheek, gently, to hers and pulled her into a sheltering embrace "never think that" he murmured into her neck. No further words escaped either pair of lips for what seemed a blissful eternity. Unnatural warmth radiated from his body even through the layers of his clothing the warmth enveloped Evey, permeating her to the core. Filling her emptiness. The chill of the cheek of V's cleverly concealed countenance offered a respite from his heat. She shivered from the sheer contrast of the temperatures and suddenly the spell was broken. In an instant he freed her; their eyes locked in that brief moment. Evey saw in them a fleeting glitter that neither the mask nor V's glance away could dispel before she saw it. "Forgive me. That was rather forward" He said with a bow, backing away. Extricating himself from the situation he walked down the hall of the Shadow Gallery to take refuge in the garden.

As he retreated, Evey felt no rage no more righteous fury, but the warmth she had felt was going away with him. She was going to be staunch, resolute. She did not need him. But in those few moments she had felt whole, the first time since she had stepped out into the rain, since she had danced with him. The promise of that warmth was pulling her, it was undeniably strong. The tendrils of that promise tethered her to him, she stood there resolutely. She would deny that pull as long as possible. She did not deny that it was there; but for now she would refuse that call. She retreated to the living room to try and read.

He went to the garden; he secretly hoped that she would follow. Sooth the wound that she had just created with her harmful words; it had been like a knife right around his shield. The emptiness had begun to eat at his newly reformed shield; he wanted to be near her. But he would not cave in this moment. He listened at the door her footsteps drew near and then faded away. It was safe. He removed his fine leather gloves, rolling up his sleeves; he replaced the gloves with a pair high-bell work gloves. Nearly ready he removed the mask, as he always did the scent of green growth was a pleasure he would not deny himself. He set himself to work as he once had, before Evey had become the caretaker of his home.

It had been a couple hours; her focus had not been on the book. Pages were turned simply out of habit. Enough was enough. He was back and there was no way she was going anywhere; this was her home now too. But the magnetic tether that drew them together was becoming too much for her to bear. She jumped up. It was time to confront him; to apologize for this morning. Well not to apologize, she had meant every word, but to acknowledge how cruel it had been to open that wound.

With each trowel he overturned and every fruit he pulled from the vine he felt her presence in the other room, the electricity in the air was becoming overbearing. He threw himself into his work. The heady perfume of the roses she had tied up became hypnotic, the tendrils of scent snaked their way into his lungs, pulling at his heart, and he became lost in his thoughts of her. His daydreams brought him to Valerie's farm with Evey, the golden sun illuminated their walks along the pastures, the roses in boxes, his unmarred forehead resting against Evey's. What he felt in that daydream could only be described as bliss. But also it was agony. All that he craved was her touch, the feel of his skin on her skin. It was a shock, literally, when she walked into the room. He could feel her presence in the doorway, the hair on the back of his neck rose when he realized he was not wearing his mask.

She saw him grope for the mask, his movements were harried and she was not sure what to do. She was awestruck by the shock of warm brown hair she was greeted with. Out of sheer reflex, she wanted to grab the mask dancing out of V's grasp and hand it to him but as she realized how badly he was struggling, she forced herself to turn around. "Thank you" he stated as he moved to the mask and placed it on his face, the click of his shoes as he moved toward her rendered her train of thought completely useless and coordination nonexistent. He approached her, placing his arms around her. She realized he had left his gloves behind on the floor. Had that been on purpose she was not sure, but she didn't care either way, she relished the feeling of his warm body against her back and leaned into him as he rested his chin on her shoulder. She rested her hands on his, and closed her eyes losing herself in the delight of human contact. She had almost forgotten what she had come here to say, until V realized he had forgotten his gloves.

For once the electricity in the room was flowing rather than chaotic. He felt the need to pull away once his ecstasy had been replaced with the realization that he was in contact with her bare skin. Where was the screaming? The flinch? She seemed content in his arms, their circuit was complete. But out of deference he felt the need to pull his ugly deformed hands from her. She let out a noise of complaint. "Wait there is something I need to say V." Her strong grip kept him there; the silence seemed to tick on for ages. "I am not sorry about what I said, V. I meant every, single, word… but I am sorry for how cruel it was of me to wish myself dead. Especially with our recent reunification." She wanted to say more. Ask him about admitting to love. But he had been through so much without her and she had changed so much. They both needed time. She held him there; she would not let him pull his hands away. "Evey, please. Why subject yourself to these-" Bringing his hand to her mouth finger she shushed him, before he could finish. Gently, reverently, she brought his hand to her mouth and kissed, with the touch of a butterfly, the largest expanse of scarring she could find.

In that silent gesture, the entire world crashed down around him as he was brought back to that night in the tunnel. This had been his home, his clothing, his world. It was hers now, all of it. He had known the moment he had met her that he would never be the same, that he would no longer be consumed fully by revenge. She had cradled his dying body, in that moment he had irrevocably become hers, through and through. But undeniably all of her was becoming his.

That kiss was like a thunderbolt, she had kissed his mask before and that had been jolting, but the touch of her lips on his bare skin was something he had not been prepared for. His mind was chaotic, but he only wanted one thing, and that was her. He needed to get out of there, needed to leave before he ripped of his mask and exposed her to what he really was in pursuit of a kiss, before he scared her away with his mutilated face. The need to extricate himself from the situation was becoming undeniable, especially before he did something utterly idiotic.

She felt him go rigid, his body no longer the warm comfort it had been, now he was simply a wall of rigid flesh. God this was tough, she had made him uncomfortable. She turned herself around, pulling him into an embrace. His arms dropped to his sides like a ragdoll. She began to speak into his chest but most of what she said was lost to his ears. He caught the last of her speech "- monster. But you are not a monster, I know that." With that he brought his arms up returning her hug. All he wanted was to gather her into a deeper embrace, but she began to back away ending the moment. "Thank you for listening to what I had to say V, welcome home."

She turned to leave; he caught her hand "Thank you… I once said that you had said the most beautiful thing I had ever heard, but seeing and smelling those flowers" he gestured to the bundles of roses that she had tied up, he choked up "those are quite possibly the most beautiful thing that has ever been done for me." He brought her hand to his mouth and brushed the lips of his mask over the back of her hand.

In that moment the urge to lift his mask from his face was as strong as it had been the night in which they had shared their last dance, stronger even. But she refrained, and left the room.

V needed a moment to recuperate; he walked over to his gloves and sank to the floor. This was going to make for an interesting living situation. Every single time she was around he felt horribly exposed, he felt as though she would run screaming if he were to show her his monstrous form. All the while he felt as if she were going to rip off his mask and somewhere deep down he hoped that that she would, that was what scared him the most.

Fear was not an emotion he had felt in a good while, yes he had been afraid to die, but that fear was no more than a tickle at the back of his mind. This fear, this mind numbing terror, which he felt for fear of scaring away the woman he loved with the monster beneath the mask, was quite possibly the worst thing he had felt since those days in Larkhill. What made it worse was the devotion he felt in every action she had taken thus far; in every flower she had bound to the irrigation system, every plant she had tended, every single book she had enjoyed in his absence he could feel her tenderness. That devotion placed the fear he felt in sharp contrast.

He could have sworn he had only been recuperating for a few moments, until Evey popped into the room, flowery apron over his clothing. He never really knew how silly he looked in that apron. It was a little bizarre the contrast of the gray and black pants and vest beneath the pink frilly apron, but it was fantastic. The humor of the outfit and the promise of food made him smile beneath the mask, but the way the cloth clung to her soft curves awoke something else. He took his time placing his gloves on top of the fresh produce he had plucked from the vine. "I am assuming you arrived to acquire these?" He brought the basket to her. "I hope you don't mind that I am cooking lunch?" She phrased it like a question, but mostly she was pleased to see he had not replaced his gloves. "Not at all my dear, would you mind if I accompanied you?" She nodded her approval. "I am sorry about stealing your apron… but you weren't here." She was unsure, he could hear it in her voice "It is fine Evey, I will accompany you. But the cooking is all up to you; after all, you did steal my lucky apron." He tucked the basket beneath his arm, ending his statement with an exaggerated bow.

He had watched her cook that afternoon. Yet again he could feel her dedication, her care. Carefully she sliced onion and garlic, zucchini and tomato fresh from the garden. Every move she made was sensual. She allowed them to sauté; she threw eggs into a pan and slowly scrambled them. She had toasted bread, spread pesto and goat cheese on it. The fragrance of basil and garlic permeated everything. The smell was positively heavenly, her movements were beautiful. Everything in this moment was something to be remembered.

She placed the plate in front of him, "I won't be offended if you want your privacy, V." She turned to make up her own plate. He pushed away from the table "forgive me for not accompanying you for lunch, Evey. But even you are not ready for this." He made his way to the living room, where he could still hear her rustling around in the kitchen. He savored every bite, until he heard her beginning to clean up. He shoveled down the last few bites and replaced his mask. She had cleaned up most of the mess by the time he had refitted his mask and made his way to the kitchen to help. She shooed him away from the cleaning, with a "When you cook you clean." So he leaned himself against the counter, and watched her work. Once she finished she grabbed his arm and steered him towards the couch.

The informal touch was difficult to get used to, but he wasn't planning on getting used to it anytime soon. He relished it. And was almost disappointed when she settled him on the couch. She moved away from him and towards the stacks of movies. She shrugged at him "Today is a good day for a movie. Anything in particular you want to see?" He didn't have an answer for her, so he returned her shrug. She grabbed the first thing that came within reach and popped it in the DVD player. She nestled into her side of the couch, but that didn't last long they found themselves gravitating towards each other. After a few minutes with an unspoken inquiry and consent she laid her head in his lap. It did not matter what she put on because right now it was just filler taking up the space of questions left unanswered and questions left unasked.

It had been a few days since their poignant first night on the couch. They had developed a new system for caring for 'their' home. Somehow Evey had convinced him that he could live without his gloves. The storms had not let up. Because of this Evey had not left to get supplies since his arrival, she watched him like a hawk, something was not quite right. The lights had been flickering for the past few days along with their tempers; the one constant being the tension of their mutual feelings. The brief hiccups had been comical more than anything and only a few legitimate scares caused any more tension between the two.

V, even with his superhuman healing, was still in pain. It had taken Evey a day to catch on, he had pushed himself a little too hard, the sharp intake of breath as he tried to move the heavy bag of fertilizer on his own has cut through the constant soft sounds of the music. Evey ran to him helping him move the bag to his goal. She wouldn't coddle him; she knew he would hate that. But that sound, its rasp, was a terrifying one. When she had asked about what the doctor had said V gave her his explanation that he was discharged without muss nor fuss. This had angered her. It was obvious that he was still in immense pain, suffering in silence may have been his style but she was not going to stand for it.

She still had not convinced him to eat without his mask. Therefore that night after he had prepared their evening meal, they had eaten in their separate rooms, and cleaning had turned into the epitome of their teamwork. One washed one dried. Side by side they scrubbed down the counters. Even below ground the rumble of thunder could be felt. The lights flickered ominously, much like the lighting of a horror film. Until they went out completely.

The Shadow gallery without light or sound was truly a mausoleum. Out of shock, Evey dropped the spatula she had been drying. V with his superior sight had bent down to retrieve it, but a single beat behind Evey who was overly eager to pick up her error. In the dark, her head made contact with the edge of his mask, as she stood to right herself the mask edge was caught. It was flung across the room. Simultaneously they gasped, then dead silence as the mask clattered to the floor.

The removal of his mask allowed more light to pass through his eyes, allowed him to see even more in the inky darkness. Evey's face was priceless. The shock radiated from her features, her mouth moving up and down like a fish, when she finally was able to close her mouth. He vaguely remembered that perhaps he should be looking for his mask, but her face and its contortions were just too captivating, too hilarious. At one point in his life this situation would have enraged him, but now he could feel the laughter building in his chest.

Had Evey been less shocked, or possibly more pragmatic she might have moved forward. Placed her hands on his face, she may have comforted him, informed him that no matter how twisted his face was she would still accept him. But all she could do was gape, like a fool, at what had just happened. When she caught herself, she snapped her mouth shut, but she could feel her bottom lip begin to quiver and the tears were beginning to well up.

After the pause, Evey began to apologize profusely, large tears bubbling to her eyes from the shock and humiliation. With that V began to laugh his rich baritone unfiltered by the absence of his mask. He could not stop himself, he gathered his blubbering companion to his rumbling chest. "This isn't funny V!" She managed to choke out, "I am so so sorry." The apologies continued to pour from her into his chest, her tears were beginning to soak through his shirt. She clung tightly to him, shaking with her apologies. The wet tears sobered him, instantly. To calm her he stroked her hair, sssh-ing into her fragrant hair, therefore gently hushing her.

She could feel his gentle noises in in her hair. As he pressed his face into her hair she could feel the absence of his mask, his nose was soft and yielding as it pressed into her scalp. His breath tickled the roots of her hair for once. She could feel the electricity moving from her head to her toes. She unclenched her hands from around his back and carefully brought them up to the sides of his head. The wig was gone and she wrapped her hands into the soft hair she found there.

His brain had nearly shut down when she wrapped her hands in his hair, the gentle tugging was nothing like the rough mask wig combination. Which reminded him: Where could that wi- It did not matter. Her hands had magicked his brain away. What little semblance of a brain was left reminded him not to let her hands wander too much. He caught them.

She felt his strong hands encase her own. But in her lust induced haze she fought him, with her body. She steered him, backing him into the counter. The pitch black would not stop her. No fear. She pressed her body into his. He might have her hands trapped, but she had him trapped.

He groaned, half agony half bliss. She had never been this forward with him. It felt right; like a wish fulfilled. At the same time, not only were his injuries acting up but he was also terrified of the implications. Before he could think too much she laid one on him.

This kiss was forceful, to say the least. She had to adjust to find his lips but once she did his lips were full and soft, they yielded to hers. She nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth. A growl escaped the back of his throat and his hands by their own volition released hers and found their home in her hair. With that he took control. He pulled her back torturing her with a gentle touch until the tension became too much too bear even for him, deepening the kiss he pulled her even closer.

With each passing moment, both could feel the electricity that had been plaguing them for days begin to course in a pleasant manner. Both mouths' corners began to turn up. It seemed like an eternity, a blissful eternity to say the least.

And the moment ended, both of them were laughing at the sheer release. He pulled her back to his chest, where she belonged. Their racing heart beats and laughter calmed together. She clung to him once the realization of what she had just done hit her like a ton of bricks, she did not want to feel the shame of what she had just done. Luckily she pressed her face to his chest just as the lights flickered back on.

He stiffened. The lights were on. His mask was still on the ground. The silence had acquired a weight, crushing the final vestiges of the laughter they had just shared. He was gripping Evey just a little too tightly. He could feel her gasping for air. He loosened his hold, just enough to let her breathe, but that was enough of a change that he could feel her begin to stir. She was positioning herself for something, but to what end?

Evey was trying to move. His grasp had loosened just enough that she could begin to wriggle. Bringing her hands to her face, she turned herself around.

Head bowed, hands over her eyes, in his arms he could see the back of her head her mop of brown hair shone. He felt moved by her actions. She had become him for a time to fan the flames, instigate, and inspire the insurgency. This woman had tended his home, she had not let the memory of him die. She had spoken to his soul on other occasions, but yet again her actions sang to his soul. He let her go.

She was free. In this action he had shown how much faith and trust he placed within her. She whipped around and felt the sudden jump as he motion startled him. She was facing him now. Her hands at her sides "I swear to you that my eyes are still closed."

He could not fathom what she was up to her head still bowed she looked as though she was waiting.

"V, may I kiss you in the light? I… I-I promise I will not open my eyes." her question killed him. He was certain that a knife had been driven into the very pit of his stomach. This place, even when the lights were on, was a gallery of shadows. True light never reached here, never touched his face. But this woman, the electricity of her kisses the earnestness with which she tried to assure him, she was true light. The temptation was coursing through his body like fire.

He gently caressed her face, running bare thumbs over her brows. He could feel the muscles tensed as she worked to keep her eyes squeezed tightly shut. She was so much like a child wishing on its birthday. Every fiber of her being screamed for him to acquiesce to her desire. He gently brought his had to her chin, he lifted it towards him. He placed a chaste kiss on each eyelid. Her face relaxed. This was the first time he had seen her face without the constraints of a face covering. She had always been beautiful to him but it was as if a veil had been lifted. Her face shone, he knew that even when he closed his eyes this image would be burned forever into his mind. He gently brought his lips to hers.

The fire that had been kindled earlier had flared anew as soon as his lips met hers. The kisses on her eyes had been gentle, coaxing her into a relaxed state. But as soon as his lips met hers an inferno roared to life within her. She could not stop her hands as they found his face. They traveled smooth skin, strong muscles moved under her fingers as he deepened the kiss. She found the back of his neck, cradling it as her fingers toyed with the ends of his hair. He pulled her closer his desire tangible as their bodies pressed together.

He came up gasping for air. He felt as though he were drowning in fire. He wanted Evey. All of her. Right now. But it was not fair or proper for him to expect that when he could not give her his everything. She was still wrapped around him. He could feel her thirst for more, so much more. He pulled away as best he could. Every fiber of his being cried out in pain. He was burning again. As he had at Larkhill. How could this woman, this beauty, hunger for a monster like him? He made a guttural noise. Pushing past her he brought his hand to his face ducking down to grab his mask he ran to the bathroom.

He looked at that face reflected back at him in the wall of mirrors. He slammed his fist into the mirror in front of him. It shattered. A million more faces looked back at him, each of them a monster. Once upon a time, as Delia Surridge lay dying she looked upon him and exclaimed "It's Beautiful." This face was not beautiful. He could see the souls of the people he had killed the innocents who had given their lives for a movement he pushed forward. The skin may have been nearly flawless only marred by a single burn scar from the licking of the Larkhill flames, the cheekbones high, with a strong nose and chin, and shining eyes. But the face was contorted. In his mind he could see the horrors of the years written on the face. He was scarred. And nothing short of a hard plastic mask could hide the terrifying truth of his crimes.

His wig was still missing, but his hair had grown enough to hide his ears. He could also not forget the feeling of her fingers in his hair. He could not forget the electricity of her kisses either but she should not be subjected to this much monster yet. He pulled his shield back onto his face. He did not deserve the light. Just as Evey deserved more than this darkness.

V approached the couch. She was sitting there, shoulders slumped, countenance sad. She straightened as she heard him approach. "Movie time?" She turned to inquire. She saw him standing there. His mask had been replaced. The memory, of the lips that lay behind it, coloured her cheeks. She was shocked to see he had not replaced the wig, his shock of curls was enough to hide his ears and frame the mask. But she was even more shocked to see the rivulets of blood running down his hand.

He could see the movie she had chosen, he recognized the title on the screen The Salt Flats. Valerie's movie. His eyes moved from the screen to her face as her question reached him. Her blush was alluring. He knew what she was thinking of, the moments they had shared in the kitchen, his mind went there as well. His chest tightened, it became difficult to breathe. The bottom of his stomach dropped to the floor. The warmth spread to his extremities. He could feel desire rolling through him. He was unabashedly watching her relishing in the anonymity his mask afforded his eyes. He tried to clear his throat in order to speak, but stopped when he saw the fear on her face.

She jumped over the back of the couch, graceful and lithe. "Go sit now." She was upset. She could feel the tears brimming, as she moved around him. She entered the bathroom. The mirror was there in a million shards. She ran her hand over it as the tears fell. How could he do this to himself? He had her didn't he? She was wracked with sobs. How could he not realize it was not himself he was hurting, but her as well? She retrieved the first aid kit as the tears began to subside. She brought it to the couch where V was sitting, his head in his uninjured hand, the injured one cradled in his lap.

He could see the tears she had shed. They had streaked her cheeks and he could see the unshed ones sparkling in the corners of her eyes. She sat beside him pulling his injured hand into her lap. She began to dress the cuts. He felt horrible. Her pain was much greater than anything he felt in relation to his wounded hand. He buried his mask into his hand, trying to hide his shame. He could feel her pain plainly as the day.

She could see him retreat. He pulled into himself. She felt a wave of sadness crash into her, she had nothing to say to him. She finished dressing the wound, placed the first aid kit on a table, and moved onto the couch. She leaned towards him. Reaching out she tentatively stroked the hair exposed on the back of his head. Reaching for the comfort his touch could provide.

He could not help himself, he leaned into her hand with his head. Her touch was so tender he wanted more. He felt himself falling. Not literally. His heart was gone. He knew it had been hers for a long time, but in this moment he realized it was not with him, for all he knew she kept it in her back pocket. He leaned further towards her. He laid his head down on to her lap. And without a word she pressed play on the remote.

She ran her hand through her hair. She found his ears and tenderly stroked. She barely paid attention to the movie at all, she was not interested in the plot at all. All she wanted was the sunshine. The golden glow hardly touched her anymore, the darkness of the Shadow Gallery was beginning to seep into her soul but if it was the only way V would open to her she would try her best to be there. She would bring him into the sun someday, but only when he was prepared. Their relationship was a dance, tentative but powerful. She was waiting for him to come closer, to be ready.

He felt himself drift under her fingers' careful caresses. They warmed him to the depths of his soul. He could feel his mind and heart meld for once, he was content to be there, this was happiness. He dreamt of many things. The movie had moved his subconscious into the sun. He and Evey were on the flats, in the cottage surrounded by roses. The held hands in the sun as they walked and passed meaningful looks as they gardened. He caught a glimpse of his face in the glass panels of the window. He did not wear the mask. But he was also not a monster. He drifted back into the waking world, someday he would experience that with her, that golden light was a paradise. He nuzzled her leg. He realized that her hands had stopped moving. She seemed to have dozed off as well, a while ago from the looks of it as the DVD was back to the menu. He sat up careful not to wake her. He had a plan.

He stole into his room and disconnected all lights within the windowless chamber. Gently he lifted Evey's sleeping frame, transporting her to his room, he tucked her in. He moved to shut the door. He could see in this darkness, but he knew she would not when she woke. He removed his mask placing it on the nightstand. He laid it there as if it were a sacred relic. He shuddered for a moment. What if she woke first? What if she could see through the darkness? As she saw through his soul and that was blacker than any room. He moved to retrieve his mask, in that moment he saw her burrow more fully into his pillow, and he stopped. He wanted this more than anything. They had fallen asleep on the couch together a few times, but that would not compare to actually having her in his arms. To hell with the consequences. He steeled himself, crawled into bed, and wrapped himself around Evey's sleeping frame.

Evey woke with a start. No night terror had startled her. It was that her dream was too perfect, too comfortable. She had been laying in the meadow of The Salt Flats:She could smell the roses from the manicured cottage garden, the wind played in her hair making gentle lulling sounds, and the sun warmed her back. It was beautiful. It was the first time that the sun had warmed her skin in a long while, the first time she had relaxed out in the light of day since the plague. She had woken with that start because it had been too comfortable, this was not something she was used to, and she hadn't had that feeling since she was a little girl. Even the inner peace she had found after the simulation V had put her through was a different feeling. That peace had been the calming of her inner seas, the fear had been channeled and cultivated. The peace of the dream had been peace afforded to her by outside forces, absolute calm in the processes of the natural world. Everything was right with the world in that moment.

Her sleep addled brain was trying to make sense of her current situation. She may have startled to waking but her brain was not comprehending her status. For some reason she could still feel the wind playing with her hair and the sun at her back. The sounds the wind had been making were still filling the room. But comprehension began to dawn on her. The sun's warmth was radiating from flesh. She could feel an arm slung over her waist, but she could not see it. For some reason the room was so dark that her eyes were not adjusting. Someone had tampered with the lights. She calmed herself. She was still in the Shadow Gallery, this should be V.

Evey began to run her hand up the bare arm. She could feel his scars. They were not as extensive as she had expected. She traced their subtle heat up his arm, imagining the patterns that the licking flames had left there. In her mind they were beautiful intricate designs. The heat and scars began to fade the further she progressed. She found one vein of subtle heat that she was able to follow all the way up. She reached the junction of his shoulder and neck. The lone scar followed a path she did not dare to follow. She deviated from that path placing her hair on the back of his head, she manipulated her fingers, lightly pulling the soft curls she found there. She smiled to herself. She was still in the Shadow Gallery, this body had to be V and he was still most certainly alive.

V groaned. He had been somewhere between sleep and waking while she had traced her way up his arm. But with that pull he had been moved into the waking world. With his sound her fingers had stopped moving in his hair. He was not happy with that, he had gone to bed as he always did without a shirt, because he was being selfish. He did not want her to stop. Scars be damned. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, burying his unmasked face into her hair. It was short, but it smelled sweet as it tickled his nose.

He moved suddenly startling Evey. He pulled her into him. He was holding her as though the world was about to end. She had not felt the mask strap when she had played with his hair. He was not wearing his mask and she was yet again trapped in his arms. She groaned with frustration. She could feel every inch of him pressed upon her. She was beginning to feel frustrated in another way as V nuzzled her hair and neck. "V, may I turn over?" she blearily managed to mumble.

In his sleep induced haze he assented. She rolled. Wrapping her arms beneath his, her hands finding the warm smooth expanse of his back. Her face pressed into his bare chest, she inhaled deeply taking in his heady scent. She could hear his heart hammering in his chest, hers sped in answer. The ends of her hair were there tickling his nose again. They both tried moving closer as though their very beings could be melded through contact alone. The electricity was absolutely tangible.

Her hands began to move again. She smoothed them over his back, running them up to the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Moving the upper arm towards his neck, finding his pulse and running her fingers over it. She continued the path playing with his ears when she arrived there. She began to work her fingers over his scalp again, massaging gently. He found solace in her gentle touches, he stretched to press her hands deeper, further into her hair. She removed her hand from his hair again, unwinding her arm from his she moved for better leverage, scratching his scalp. Gently running her fingers over the crest of his ears, to the lobe, to the intersection of jaw and ear.

He was practically intoxicated from her touch. Drunkenly he gave his assent when she asked her next question: "May I?"

Evey placed her hands upon his face.

In the darkness he saw stars, bright flashes of colours as the electricity of her touch coursed through him. She touched him in a way that the previous caresses and kisses had only teased at. His mind briefly revolted at having this beautiful, whole, woman touch the monster. But her gentle fingertips quieted the upheaval. He melted into her touch.

She was shocked. Unlike the intricate burn scars on his hands, there was nothing to indicate even the faintest scarring beneath her fingers, the soft skin smooth beneath her skimming fingers. Her fingers slowed, echoing the confusion of her mind through their very movement.

Through the haze of his pleasure in response to the human contact, he felt her fingers come to a stop.

"V… I-I.. I don't understand" her words were soft and slightly muffled, but he could feel them as she spoke into his chest. He collapsed under the weight of those words. How could he possibly explain the monster? It was so clear. How could she not feel the ugliness?

Her confusion was amplified, as he disentangled himself from her arms. The shaking had started as he pulled away. She could feel him shaking through the darkness, as he backed away from the bed. She could hear him collapse into a heap. She heard him gasping for air.

She slowly approached, crouching down to get closer to his small shaking frame. As she approach he tensed, going completely still, utterly silent. She paused feeling a spark of the intensity that had been there before, he reached out grasping her arms in desperation he had to make her se;e "What was done to me was monstrous, thus they created a monster." He could see her through the darkness his superhuman night vision showing him her surprise at being grabbed, melt into dismay at his words. He released her arms, seeing the sadness in her face.

His words made no sense to her, he had been vengeful. But he was not monstrous. His actions had been violent, but also just. Why could he not see that his actions changed the world for the better? Why could he not see he was more than an idea now. She felt him release her arms. She lunged for him, pulling him into her arms.

He stiffened even more if that was possible. But she held fast, cradling him until he relaxed into her embrace. She rocked him, crooning into him.

What was he now that he was no longer simply an idea?

She held him, gently rocking until he stilled. She whispered "V, let's get some sleep." Carefully she disentangled herself, standing slowly, she reached for him pulling him up. They made their way to the bed.

As he drifted off cradled in her arms, thoughts spun through his head. She made him believe that maybe just maybe he deserved more than the end of the tunnel. With the second chance he had been granted, he wanted to try to live.

He woke the next morning, the bed next to him empty, but she had not reconfigured the lights and his mask was still beside the bed. He reconnected the lights, making his way to the bathroom, he needed to think on this.

She had been so very tempted that morning to simply reconnect the lights, she snorted, as if disconnecting the lights could have stopped her. Amateurish V. She mused to herself as she ran through the routine she had created for her morning exercise. But she had stopped herself. Out of respect to the man she adored. Was it more than adore? It had only been a week, but she was beginning to realize what she felt. She had believed in the idea he had represented, admired it, but they were beyond that. She had become that idea in his absence, she certainly felt more self-assured, but there was something more in him. He taught her how to live free from fear, but he also made her laugh. She had cried on his behalf. She took comfort in his presence. He made her feel. He had begun to open up to her but every time was like an ebb and flow, with him still recoiling when too much emotion passed between them. She felt hurt that he would feel the need to hide anything from her at this point. She could recognize something in him that he had erased from her so many ages ago: Fear.

He showered, musing at his confusion. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck… Or had been back on that train again. Why was this so difficult? He had decided he wanted to live for this woman. Why could he not open up to her? She had been there, she had respected him beyond being an idea that sparked a revolution. She had donned the mantle of that idea, an idea that no longer needed a singular figurehead, it had become ingrained into the very fabric of society. He continued to think on this. This woman who made him want to share everything about himself, whom he'd shared the deepest ideas with, but no details. She still didn't know who he was, how many brothers or sisters he had, where he came from. He wasn't sure of these details anymore himself. The addition of her physical presence was even more confusing. One he found himself afraid of. Fear. He laughed to himself, darkly. He was afraid again. He stepped out of the shower, resolve and a plan in his heart.

"Evey. I'm leaving." Silence, as she occupied herself with some food on the counter. "Did you hear me? I can't stay here." He mirrored the words she had said to him. "I know, well you won't find any more locked doors here." He chuckled, at her interpretation of the situation, at her use of his words right back at him.

This wasn't forever. But he needed to leave the Shadow Gallery, he wanted a life with this woman. In order to do that, they needed space from the very idea they had embodied. He had packed a bag, it was time for him to go. Time for him to prepare a place.

She was unsurprised, he was running. She was angry, sad, betrayed, finally numb. But she had known what was coming when she saw him approach her in the kitchen with a large bag over his shoulder. She knew he was afraid again. She had to ask, "Do you know where you'll go?"

V spoke, "Yes. May I show you something before I go?" she nodded, he surprised her, by taking her hand in his ungloved hands. He dragged her to the library where he had pulled a file. She was agape "This is real? It's beautiful." Old pictures of the countryside spilled out and a map sat on top with a circle in red ink, the folder had obviously been there a long time.

"I just need time, Evey… And you need a little time here to wrap up your business. I am not needed here… I am a distraction from the beginning of the rest of our lives." With those words he pulled her into his arms.

She could feel his arm rise, then she felt his lips in her hair, pressing small kisses into her hair. She closed her eyes, basking in the words and feelings obviously reciprocated. The numbness melting away, a melancholy taking its place. But he was correct. The world did not need her to don the mask any more, she had seen it begin to heal, she had reaped the rewards of her efforts. She had seen it in markets where she had seen people living and smiling. She had been clinging to it, it was the last vestiges of V.

She had him back. Nevertheless, she had loose ends to wrap up. She sighed.

He lifted her chin gently. Her eyes were still shut. He could see trace of water where tears were beginning to form beneath her eyelids. She squeezed her eyes shut harder, he couldn't tell if it was force of habit or she was trying to stop the tears. He leaned in, kissing where the tears would be. Her eyes remained shut.

She would not let him see her cry, she could feel the tears retreating with his gentle ministrations. He began to speak again, "I know I already used my one wish, but if I could have another?" She leaned in brushing her lips across his cheek a breathless whisper of "Yes?" caressing where her lips had been.

He pulled back, gently directing her face. She tentatively opened her eyes, gazing at his unmasked face for the first time. He looked deeply into her eyes, "It would be to see you again."

_**Epilogue:** _

A figure crested a hill in the English countryside, looking travel weary as she heaved her pack a little higher onto her back. From where she stood, the rolling hills and countryside stretched beyond her, promise permeating the air.

She had completed her final broadcast. She had concluded by reminding the people and the newly established parliament that she was an idea, an idea that was within them all. She had also slipped an anonymous tip to the new heads of the British Museum and newly reopened Tate Modern about the cache in the Shadow Gallery. She was finished. She was ready to rest.

Not far from where she stood was reportedly a country house.

One of the many left deserted following the St. Mary's Virus.

One of the few that had withstood the rise and fall of Norsefire.

It was waiting for her.

She could see him in the golden light, through the billows of linens drying on the lines. The smell of roses gently on the air, from freshly planted boxes. She approached this man. His appearance was vulnerable and unsure. But as she saw the smile stretch across his unmasked face, she knew she was home.


End file.
